“Those aren’t puppies.” Dr. Maren said it so softly that Ava almost thought she had imagined it. The exam room was warm, the heat lamp glowing over a laundry basket lined with towels. Inside it, six tiny newborns squirmed and squeaked against one another, their eyes sealed shut, their bodies still damp from the long night before.
Ava gripped the edge of the metal table. “What do you mean they aren’t puppies?” Her rescued shepherd mix, Luna, lay on a blanket near Ava’s feet, exhausted but alert. She had given birth during the storm, hidden away in the old potting shed behind Ava’s cottage. Ava had found her there before dawn, surrounded by what she believed was a full litter.
Dr. Maren did not answer immediately. She leaned closer, studying the newborns one by one. Two were pale, round, and clearly dog-like. The other four were darker, smaller, and strangely sharp-featured, with narrow little faces that made the vet’s expression tighten. Ava forced a nervous laugh, saying, “They look like puppies to me.” Dr. Maren looked at Luna, then back at the basket. “They look like newborns,” she said carefully. “But there’s something strange going on here…”